the origin of First Christmas

Before I jump into the history of First Christmas for anyone interested, I want to say that this year's Christmas celebration with my husband's parents was the best we have ever had.  MIL was so gracious and really bent herself backwards being as loving and accommodating as possible.  LOVE reigned.  I would love to share more later--but I just wanted to get that straight up front.  This post delves back into our painful family past--and I wanted to start out with the beautiful, positive now to offset it. : )
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Our family tradition of "First Christmas" began years and years ago, about eight years into our marriage. When my Dear Husband and I first married, we lived in Colorado, in the same town his parents lived in.  So for the first five years of our marriage, just because of the close proximity, DH and I spent every. single. holiday with his parents (except for one or two visits to IL and my family). Even Valentine's Day. Oh, and most Sundays too. This was all happening, too, during the absolute worst parts of our relationship with his parents. I can't begin to explain why at this moment, because the reasons are so complex, but MIL was chronically unhappy with us, and made sure we knew it, and DH just wanted to do whatever she wanted (like most everybody else did) to keep the peace, and I was always a little mouse tiptoeing around trying my best not to be offensive but of course was all the more offensive for that, and DH and I muddled and flailed through that period.  It was ugly, and sin-saturated, and felt hopeless and was so painful to live through.  And because we lived in the same town, it was unrelenting. And it flavored every. single. holiday.

But it was actually ok, too; because we lived in the same town, we were never staying in their house, so any holiday we could celebrate with DH's parents but then later go and celebrate privately together in our own home, our own way.  One celebration was for sharing with family, at which we laid our own feelings and wishes aside to be as respectful and accommodating as possible.  And one was for just us, at which we could relax into emotional safety and enjoy greater personal meaning.  

Then DH's parents decided it was time to sell their house in CO and move back to MIL's hometown in northern California, so they could settle down once and for all and be ready to care for her parents, who were starting to need more help in their old age. I confess, I was glad. To be honest, it felt like DH and I could finally start building our life together. Life suddenly became so much easier, and less stressful. We still saw DH's folks a couple times a year, but it was so much easier to force on the smile and jump through hoops for a week-long visit than to live like that chronically. We had done a complete reversal, and instead of being immersed in the family dynamics, we now only stepped into that world about 4 times in 2 years, and that was fine by me.

But then the little software start-up DH worked for went belly-up, as so many did that year of the Dot Com bust, and so he ended up looking for work for 4 months, then getting a 6-month position, then being unemployed again for 5 months, and then finally--thankfully--getting a job.  (The same job he has now.)

And out of the whole United States, God chose to bring us to California. Only 5 hours away from DH's parents.

And there was no question about God's plan in that--He knew I was all too happy just faking my way through interactions with DH's parents, spending as little time and investing as little emotion into the relationship as possible. Sure, there were legitimate reasons for why I was doing so, mainly self-protective, but they did not please God. So, I know that is one reason he brought us here, where we would HAVE to be back in more routine relationship with DH's parents, just far enough away to have our own lives but close enough so that we would see them frequently.

I wanted to stay put. God wanted me to follow.

I wanted to be emotionally safe. God wanted me to be vulnerable.

I wanted to get comfortable. God wanted me to get busy learning and loving and growing.

I wanted to keep a difficult relationship as far removed as possible. God wanted to use that relationship to do His good work in me--and in other people too.

I wanted to go about my own life. God wanted me to acknowledge the only life worth living is in Him, and it is not safe and it is not comfortable, but He has promised to be my protector and my Champion, and I can trust His lead.

SO, we moved to beautiful Monterey Bay the day after Christmas that year, and it was a terrible experience, and definitely a Christmas without Christ for me, mainly because of chronic exhaustion (DH was already at his new job in CA and so I packed up our house while being a single working mom of a 2 year old and being 7 months pregnant) and major stresses with DH's parents, who had come out from CA to help us with the move.

The next Christmas, our first after getting settled there in CA, we of course spent with DH's family.  God has already been whispering His plan to me, so I knew I needed to start actually engaging with my in-laws at the holidays, and so we just went gung-ho to DH's folks to have Christmas.  I don't remember exactly how things went, but know it was alternately pleasant and painful, fun and fearful, meaningful and maddening.  But mostly characterized less by any focus on Christ and more by us walking on eggshells the entire time, trying not to set off any landmines--and always failing. (I can speak with assurance because that's how our holidays would be for many years to come.)  We had become resigned to such holidays when we were young marrieds and just had ourselves to get through--but now we had two little kids, and the unhealthy family dynamics were all the more exposed for what they were. (They were little enough that they did not notice any negativity, but just their presence alone put things in greater perspective for me.)

In my newfound idealism I had even tried to share some of my own Christmas traditions with DH's family--bringing my grandma's sweet potato recipe to Christmas dinner, adding my gum-drop tree to the dessert table--but they were clearly not welcome.  (Looking back, how naive was that!--everybody likes their own nostalgic traditions, and MIL is no different, so why would she want my foreign ways and foods encroaching?  I might feel the exact same way. ; ) So, it was an OK Christmas, and a fine way to start our new life in relationship.  But I confess my heart had a hard time celebrating.

So the next year, when we once again were preparing to having Christmas with DH's parents, there was a moment when I had a sudden, despairing vision of all our future Christmasses with DH's parents, and it always being slightly stressful, and somewhat foreign to our spirits, and our children never knowing any traditions that were from my side of the family, or foods that were special to my childhood, or even ever hearing the Christmas story read from the Bible on Christmas Day--and I broke down and bawled.  DH was so sweet, and utterly brilliant.  After listening to my lament, he simply said, "Well, why don't we have our own Christmas then?"  I sniffed and blinked and asked, "What do you mean?"  And he responded with the idea of having our own Christmas celebration before we went to Chico to be with DH's family.  At first I did not like that idea, because it seemed wrong--Christmas only comes once a year, everybody knows that!  You can't have two Christmasses.  Santa can't come twice!  But to all my objections, DH would simply ask, "Why not?"

And so our First Christmas tradition was birthed.  And it turned out SO good.  We did everything we wanted--I made the foods my family used to eat, we got the kids dressed up and took pictures, we read the Scripture about Christ's birth, we watched Christmas specials.  It was so relaxing and fun and embodied everything I ever wanted in a Christmas.  And then I discovered that having our private Christmas first prepared my heart for the family Christmas!  With my heart full of Christmas already, I was completely at peace about doing whatever my husband's family wanted to do, and was so much more engaged with the activities and ready to build relationships in honor of Jesus.  First Christmas completely saved me from years of building resentment and feelings of loss and depression. 

And we have continued to have First Christmas every year since.  Sometimes our First Christmas comes second, as it did this year--we just plan it for whatever Saturday before Christmas or immediately after makes the most sense.  Sometimes we even have it on a different day of the week, and DH takes off work.  Over the years it has gotten simpler, and we have started some new traditions as a family for it, but there are several elements that will always be the same:  we spend the whole day together, we are not in a rush to do anything, we try to make Jesus the focus, we just enjoy one another, and we do whatever is special to us.  Oh, and I keep my expectations low. : )

I love First Christmas!  Even when it comes Second.  And we had a great day yesterday.